Pip Vaughan-Hughes - The Vault of bones

'The situation is in hand’ finished the Doge. You are returned safe to us, for which God be praised. But now, when this Petrus, or Petroc, came to our doors yesterday, enquiring about the Emperor Baldwin, naturally the honoured council thought it more than coincidental. You recommended this man's arrest, did you not, Querini?'

'I did, Your Honour. I observed him in Constantinople, and he is dangerous – not so much as his master, but nonetheless…'

Young man, you face the gravest of charges. This man, Nicholas Querini, who is a person of the highest standing in the Republic, has brought accusations against you of thievery, sedition and fraud. Far more seriously, he has raised questions of simony, a traitorous attack upon the integrity of the Holy See, and heresy. What do you say to that?'

I looked at each man in turn, but they were implacable, unreadable. I thought briefly of charging at the windows and throwing myself out, but then I recalled Querini's words about the Captain, and the smug certainty in them, and a grain of hope began to whirl, tiny as a dust mote, through my clanging mind.

‘I am no fraud’ I said. 'I have spoken with His Holiness in person, and I can attest that Captain de Montalhac's mission was authorised by Gregory himself, and blessed by him too. As for thievery, I have committed no such deed. Sedition? To accuse one man of weakening the empire of the Latins is akin to blaming the fall of a rotten house on one solitary woodworm – and besides, our mission and our intent was to strengthen the empire, not destroy it. We were acting under a commission from Baldwin himself, and he will confirm it. As for heresy

'De Montalhac is a Cathar.' The Doge was patting a sheaf of papers on the table before him. 'He and his lieutenant, one Gilles de Peyrolles, and many others of his company. Do you deny it?'

My bones turned to water and my heart seemed to be made of unfired clay. Christ, what could I do? They would have me condemn my master and my friends, and then doubtless myself. It was hopeless; and yet I had met the pope – that had happened. Surely someone could be sent to Viterbo? Then I remembered jolly Peter of Verona, the Pope's Inquisitor, and how he had railed against Venice.

'Is this the Inquisition, Your Honour?' I asked. We are discussing temporal affairs. I will not be drawn into slanderous accusations of heresy, slanders aimed at souls who are not even present, unless it be before the representative of the pope himself.' I was feeling almost angry now, and I fixed my glare upon Nicholas Querini.

'Of what, specifically, am ‘ accused?' I asked. I almost wanted to hear the word now. If I was to hang for Facio, at least I had had my revenge upon him. With every respect to the honour of this chamber, I have heard only slanders and libels. If you would talk to Baldwin de Courtenay, all your questions would be answered. Happily, he is in Venice’ 'His Majesty is in Rome’ said the Doge, dismissively. 'Ah – I believe he is in France’ a councillor put in. 'England, I thought’ said another.

At any event he is not here, said the Doge, impatiently. 'Messer Querini's word is enough’

'Specifically’ said another man, 'you are charged with attempting to steal from Constantinople a relic beyond price, to whit, the Crown of Thorns of Our Lord's Passion’

'How can that be, Your Honour?' I asked, summoning wounded innocence. For some reason they had not yet cried murder, but that would come next. 'The holy Crown left Constantinople before I did. This man took it.' I pointed at Querini, who smiled coolly.

'Indeed? I am sure that Messer Querini, one of this Republic's most honoured lords, would have mentioned such a thing to this council’ said the Doge, watching me carefully. Your slander is wearisome, but happily we will not have to suffer it any longer.' I tried to keep my face impassive, but in truth it was another terrible blow. I saw now that I must be doomed, for my word counted for nothing against that of Querini, and I would be dead long before anything I said could be proved. And yet still that seed of hope remained, growing, strengthening me with its tendrils. 'Messer Querini acted entirely within the bounds of propriety. He lent a very considerable sum to the Latin Regent, who, honourable man that he is, gave his creditor an exceptionally sound piece of security. And so honourable is Messer Querini that he has allowed the treasure to remain in Constantinople.'

'But we were acting for Louis of France…' I began, but the Doge raised a cautioning finger. 'Louis will have to pay Messer Querini’ he said. You expected, of course, that he would pay you!

Suddenly hope flowered into revelation. I placed my hand to my breast, and felt the crackle of parchment there. They had not searched me – had not even taken Thorn, which had terrified me, for it meant that they feared no resistance, resistance being unthinkable. But now I had something far more dangerous, and it was not the knife.

‘Your Honour, Honourable Council’ I said, your concerns for the safety of your interests in the Latin Empire are unfounded. I sought audience with you on a most urgent and weighty matter of state, although it seems you heard only my enquiry as to the whereabouts of Baldwin, which seem to be something of a mystery’ I shot a look at Querini, but he was gazing, bored, at the ceiling. 'Although I have been taken by force of arms in broad daylight, like a common scoundrel, I am an accredited agent of His Holiness the Pope, and of His Majesty Louis Capet, most pious monarch of France’ I was spooning on the diplomatic unction a little thickly, but judging by the room's silence, not entirely in vain, so I reached into my tunic and pulled out, first the letter from Andrew of Longjumeau, and then the papal bull itself.

'This’ I declaimed, holding up Andrew's letter, 'appoints me an agent of the King of France.' I handed it to the nearest councillor, who began to study it curiously and a little gingerly, as if he expected something scurrilous. 'And this’ I went on, holding up the bull, with its massive seal, 'is a decree issued by Pope Gregory in person, dated September of last year, and signed by His Holiness at Viterbo in my presence’ That had their attention, for every eye, especially those of Messer Nicholas Querini, were now fixed upon the great, ominous seal of lead. Seizing the moment, I gave a stiff, grudging bow. 'I would guess that this is not the usual welcome accorded to weary ambassadors in your Republic’ I said, coldly. 'But I am young in years and my person does not, I will admit, reflect the gravitas of my commission. Nevertheless…' and I tensed every sinew in my body as I said this, nevertheless, I wish to address the Doge in private, for I have matters of high state that I would rather not speak of in public’

Querini pushed himself up out of his chair. 'How dare you insult the Serenissima, you verminous-' he barked, but the Doge, who was scanning Andrew's letter, took hold of his arm.

'Nicholas’ he said, pleasantly, but there was a taste of iron in his voice. Querini shut his mouth and sat down, his face tight with fury. Around the table, the councillors had their heads together, whispering, but the Doge stared directly at me. I felt myself grow pale, but allowed myself one single blink in return. At last one of the councillors, the man who had first addressed me and who now held Andrew's letter, turned to the Doge and gave him a simple, measured nod.

'Good, good’ exclaimed the Doge. He looked around the table. 'Sirs, with your permission I will withdraw to my chambers with this gentleman.'

One by one the red-robed men nodded their assent. The man who had arrested me left his post by the window and walked past me to an inner door. He opened it and stood by while the Doge entered. We followed him into a small, surprisingly sparse room lit by two narrow windows. Tiepolo seated himself in a smaller version of his throne in the council chamber, and, prompted by the official, we took two smaller seats. I looked around me furtively. The walls were painted, but it had been done many years ago – centuries, perhaps – as the paint had faded into the plaster, which was itself cracked in places. There were stars, waves, winged lions, done mostly in gold upon a red field. It must have been splendid once, but now the room was almost homely and in spite of my fears I began to grow more easy.